An introduction into what it is like to make a film.

I love this video so much. While the content is very abstract, this has been my experience with every video and film I've ever had the precious opportunity to work on.

Film Analysis and "Striking While the Iron's Cold"

One of my all-time favorite films

The title this week comes from a comment of one of my favorite film critics on a reddit AMA. I read it ages ago, but the sentiment of this comment has stuck with me, especially since it resonates with my approach to writing posts.

I never review or discuss current movies.

I can even remember multiple times (in my more pretentious days) going to see movies with friends, and then when they asked whether or not I liked it, I would just tell them that I couldn't say yet. I understand now that's not really what you do in social situations, but I really like to dissect a movie before I feel I can say anything beyond my surface feelings.

So, let me just stop there for a moment. Surface feelings are valuable. I know that now, and it took me a long time to learn.

However, striking while the iron's cold allows you to analyze a movie and ask why you feel the way you do. You get to dissect the jokes, dig into the subtext, research cinematography, and anything else you need to do to understand what elements are at work behind what you are seeing. And the best part is that you don't have to hang your feelings on the patterns you do or don't find - because those surface feelings are still there and they still happened. Even if you realize that a movie you love is a terrible film, by certain standards or according to certain major theorists or critics, you can still love it.

Besides, learning about films more, diving into the emotional and intellectual responses that come so naturally while we're watching them is the kind of experience that enriches us as human beings. And doing so while the emotions are not so fresh in our memory allows us to analyze them without returning to or being consumed by them again.

Plus, it also helps you to avoid telling everyone else that they are wrong (Refer to sentence that reads "Surface feelings are valuable").

Editing for Pacing and Scott Pilgrim vs. The World

So, I'm going to start this one with a confession. For every one post I put up here, there are at least three that never happen or end up on the cutting room floor. It's common for me to write something, and then read through it, hate it, and throw it out. But this topic - pacing and video editing in general - has been on my mind a lot lately, and as I've written it I've been very pleased with how it's turned out. Video editing is near and dear to my heart because it is my role of choice (outside the director's chair) when working on video crews. In my mind, editing is when a few unrelated shots become a movie.

Sure everyone knows what editing is, and how to do it, but not a lot of everyday moviegoers understand what makes it good, how editors set themselves apart, or where the "art" side of the art and skill coin comes into play. The barrier to entry for video editing is so low that now ANYONE can do it for absolutely free, but still people don't seem to grasp the path to becoming a good editor or how to spot(appreciate) one in the average summer blockbuster.

Editing is like cinematography in that, sure, anyone can have a camera, anyone can learn the rule of thirds, but some few true artists just seem to make really stellar images (i.e. there is an art there above and beyond skill). But how does that break down for editors? Where does the skill end and the art begin? Don't video editors just (1) do whatever the director tells them to, and (2) find the best takes, and arrange them in linear (or non-linear, depending on the story) order?

That would be a resounding no.

If you were to break down a film editor's task list, you would definitely see some things that are very cut and dry, and very skill-oriented - like making sure a film comes in with the right runtime. Film editors do in fact have many rules of thumb, tips and tricks that govern how they do what they do - and there is really a lot there that we could dive into there. But there are also some tasks that are vague and difficult to execute - like using pacing to create tone, or constructing a scene to properly cover the action. However, the important thing for this discussion is to remember that at the end of the day, everything a film editor does operates on two major principles: gestalt and pacing.

A Quick Overview of Gestalt

While I could (and I hope to) devote an entire post on gestalt in video editing, let's just get the definition out of the way so that we can get into pacing. Gestalt (in film) is the understanding that the audience doesn't view any portion of a film in isolation. Audience members don't think to themselves that they are hearing creepy music and seeing someone walking down an alley, they think that this person is walking down a creepy alley. Audience members don't see a shot of a man licking his lips and then see a close up of a burrito, they see a man who is hungry and wants to eat a burrito. While you are watching a film, your brain integrates all of the elements into one, and views them within the context of one another - so the less they mesh the less clear the message of any given moment will be. More powerful moments are created when everything increases your understanding of everything else in a clear and meaningful way. This works in all directions too, you relate things that happen before to things that happen after, you relate things that happen at the same time together, and you relate things that follow a pattern into a single psychological construct. That's gestalt.

Check out this clip from Scott Pilgrim, and notice how everything is related. You know where all of the characters are in relationship to one another, the cuts allow you to understand their communication and reactions with each other because each shot gives context for the shot immediately afterwards, and the action is grounded in the narrative because the cuts let you know why and how things are happening. Besides, I just love this scene.

Pacing

Now that we've covered gestalt, let's get into pacing. Pacing is a term for how editors manage the psychological state of the audience over the course of a scene, sequence, or over a full film. It refers to how the editor times and transitions cuts, music, movement, and effects to (1) create a reaction in the audience; (2) use those reactions and emotions to affect other contexts and situations; and (3) transition from one emotion, thought, or reaction to another. Pacing refers both to how fast or slow a film is AND the process or rhythm the film uses to transitions from one feeling to another. Amateur filmmakers will often let the pace of a film be determined by the delivery of the actors or the action that has been captured in the camera, leaving the scenes, performances, and action to run the full length, including every unnecessary pause, movement, and extraneous blocking. Pros, on the other hand, leave hours of footage on the cutting room floor so that only the necessary amount of information is conveyed, and at a pace and rhythm that matches the emotion and desired reaction of the scene. Each scene should take the minimum amount of screen time necessary to tell it's bit of the story, you don't want to waste a frame. Then, on top of that, editors have to consider the emotional context, visual language, and audio flow between any two scenes. If you've seen the Ang Lee's Hulk (2003) the transitions between scenes are both very apparent and very fluid, with a visual element from the previous scene always bleeding into the next. That is all done to set the pacing of the film. It's also why the most common special feature on any given DVD or Blu-Ray is the "Deleted Scenes." Frequently, when editing a final film, directors or editors decide that an entire scene is dragging the pacing down, changing the emotional tone too much, or just plain out of place, and so it is cut - sometimes even when it contains information vital to the plot of the film.

For an excellent example of how a film uses pacing to set the tone and transition from one emotion to another, check out the works of M. Night Shyamalan - especially Unbreakable, Signs, or The Village. Shyamalan holds his shots for a long time without cutting to build the tension, and then suddenly speeds things up for a few minutes for scares and excitement, and then goes back to slow to let the audience catch their breath or build to the next release.

Or, if you want an example that is hilarious, fast-paced, and created by one of the greatest comedic directors of our time, you could check out Scott Pilgrim vs. The World.

Scott Pilgrim vs. The World

I highly recommend Scott Pilgrim vs. The World. But, let me just start out by saying that if you are ready to run to the movie store (they still have those, right?) to get Scott Pilgrim just off of my suggestion, it's not really a film for everyone. The story is slightly incoherent (I'll talk more in-depth about what that means in a later post - I promise), it can be kind of difficult to track, the pacing jumps frequently from fast to slow, and the narrative doesn't follow the typical emotional logic that we are accustomed to. It's a hard movie to categorize in your brain. But I think it is definitely worth watching just for the pure skill in execution, and even more so if you fit in the generation and demographic that will get the inside jokes from sitcoms and video games.

Also, I do think that the movie deserves a little leeway because it tries to adapt SIX graphic novels into a single film, the team didn't know exactly how it was going to end when they started production, and is a heavy-handed comedy (which always means taking time for comedic payoff, even if it comes at the expense of time for characterization, plot, or action). That's really hard to fit into less than two hours of video. The whole film has kind of got a "bite-off-more-than-you-can-chew" vibe to it. But even with all that, it is a genuinely entertaining and well-crafted film.

So let's go back to what I said before about how Scott Pilgrim jumps around a lot. The pacing in this movie is outright insanity - with some scenes being slow and thoughtful, others fast and frenetic, and some with the drive, rhythm, and repetition of a music video. There's not a wasted frame.

Take a minute to look at the clip below - which starts at the end of a somber scene. Notice how the pacing transitions from one emotional tone to the next, and how the editor keeps ramping up the speed til we make it to the end of the clip. Notice how your emotional state as an audience member is being manipulated by the rhythm of what you are seeing, and how the editor maintains that rhythm by holding visuals and audio the exact amount of time that matches the pacing of the scene. It's really quite brilliant.

Check it out here.

So, not only is this clip dealing with two different scenes, a shift in emotional tone between the two, music and sound cues that are both stark and subtle, swinging camera transitions to add octane to the pacing, and generally ramping up the speed of all the takes, but it also takes a moment - just as the speed of the pacing reaches its apex - to use the pacing for a joke and to get a laugh. If you missed that, it was the shot of the shoe.

All of Scott Pilgrim is like this. The whole film moves at a breakneck pace, that only pauses for emotionally poignant moments before it takes off again and doesn't wait for you to catch up. It has to cover a lot of ground, visually and stylistically as well as within the narrative. Each scene has it's own pacing - setting slightly different tones for each Evil Ex, that bare a stark contrast from the quiet moments between just Scott and Ramona. But the place where Scott Pilgrim vs. The World really shines is in the transitions. To understand what I mean and for bonus points, go back and watch the Katanyagi Twins fight, but pay attention to the pacing and rhythm this time instead of gestalt. The final section ("Getting a life") is a transition, but a different kind I'll cover later.

With the vast number and variety of scenes used in Scott Pilgrim, it would be easy for the film to feel jumpy, disjointed, and like a collection of separate vignettes. Instead, each scene has a cohesive entry and exit point, linking it all together and helping the audience understand how each scene relates to the one after it. Even the opening credits transition from one logo to another, naturally flowing from the setup right into the rest of the film and setting a precedent for pacing and transitions that will be followed for the rest of the picture.

And it works flawlessly.

So while your chowing down on popcorn in your next flick, watch out for pacing. It's something that takes awhile to catch at first, because most films aren't as obvious about it as Scott Pilgrim. If you want to know what type of stopwatch a movie ticks to, you usually have to slow it down and take it shot by shot. But that's not so bad - it makes for a great experience, and hey, that's what the editor had to do.

MI:4 and Why I Still Believe the Auteur Theory

There's a brilliant quote from the film Nine about directing:

Directing a movie is a very overrated job, we all know it. You just have to say yes or no. What else do you do? Nothing. “Maestro, should this be red?” Yes. “Green?” No. “More extras?” Yes. “More lipstick?” No. Yes. No. Yes. No. That’s directing.

But that's not really what I want to talk about. 

When I was a young, dumb film student, my professors taught me the meaning of the Auteur theory and told me outright that it was evil. Not that the theory itself was evil, but believing it sure was.

In a nutshell, the auteur theory of film says that the director is the ultimate author of the film, that they have the most creative control over the final look and feel of the film, and that they are more responsible for its success and failure than the screenwriter, cinematographer, editor, or any other contributor on the film. See, in creating a book or painting, it is easy to decide who the "author" of that creative work is - it's the person who did all of the work. J.K. Rowling is the author of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone because there is no part of that story that didn't come from her. 

But movies have hundreds, and sometimes thousands, of people who contribute to the final product of the film. It takes an army to make a movie. Peter Jackson is incapable of constructing and animating a CG model of King Kong; James Cameron didn't utter the timeless line "I'll be back."; and Frank Miller had never even made a movie before he directed his first big-budget picture. How, if these people are not the major content contributors, could I possibly call them the author of the film's final form, creative concept, success, or even failure? 

I'm getting ahead of myself - let's do a story first. 

Over the shoulder shot

One of the first short commercials I ever directed featured two people talking to each other. I wanted to do an over-the-shoulder shot for each person - because I love frame within a frame shots. (Sidenote: if you love frame within a frame cinematography too, check out Stranger than Fiction - that movie's gorgeous). I talked with the DP, and he said that with the location we had chosen, he tested several camera setups and didn't think it was possible it get a well-composed over-the-shoulder shot. It just didn't work at the location and with the lighting setup we had already selected. So we did a different type of shot and moved on. 

Then, a few weeks later I was assisting on the set of a student short film, run by one of the most talented directors I've met. Lo and behold, he wanted an over-the-shoulder shot too, and his DP told him the same thing - it just wasn't practical for their setup. But that wasn't good enough for him, the shot had to happen. Setbacks are temporary, film is forever. So, they began to modify their setup. Finally, they got the shot he wanted by putting the chair of the actor whose back was to the camera  on top apple crates. Sure, his feet were 2.5 feet off the ground and he looked completely ridiculous to everyone in the room, but the shot looked great. 

My professors told me the auteur theory was evil because it engendered a false idea that the director is king of the castle, and everyone else mere peons that exact his will - and that's just not true. In reality, the exact work that a director does do varies from film to film, but one thing remains the same: Every single frame of every shot has been approved by the director as what he or she intended it to be. Directors are not in charge of making everything within a film, but instead are the filter through which all content must pass - and they exact their creative will by only accepting items that forward the creative agenda of the piece. They are the single interpreter between script and the final reality of the finished film. Thus, the same script given to different directors would produce vastly different films. It is their job to make sure the final film is what they want it to be - and we trust them to produce films that we as an audience will enjoy. 

Ridley Scott puts it a little differently, but I think he means the same thing. 

And it's important to remember that this approach does not devalue the work of the rest of the filmmakers on any project. Adam Savage, of Mythbusters once cheerfully lamented that his tenure at ILM only allowed him the opportunity to work on movies that were ultimately not great. But he still got work, because his part in those films was amazing and very respected in the film community. For each, the special effects were great, but the entire film was unsuccessful - and we blame that aggregate success or failure on the director because it's his or her job to take responsibility for the film as a whole. 

MI:4

Sorry, this post has gone way too long without getting to the movie I wanted to talk about and I promise less than half the stuff I wanted to cover made it in. 

The Mission Impossible series is not only a great collection of films (with one less successful entry), but also a perfect illustration of my point - and Ghost Protocol is my favorite of the set. You see, each of the 4 MI movies so far has had a different director, and they are all completely different movies. There have been screenwriters that have carried over, actors (obviously), music, editing, etc., but the directors were different every time.

I would really love, at this point, to go through each of the Mission Impossible films and talk about the directorial styles of the different directors for each and how you can see them evident in the final product - but I just don't have the time or the space. The MI's have had some impressive names take the wheel, and you can see in the look, feel, and overall tone differences between each of the films. The difference between De Palma's tone and Woo's are almost night and day, while Abrams' Mission Impossible feels like the original, but still made some subtle (and some not so subtle) changes. But I'm not here to talk about them, I'm here to talk about Ghost Protocol and Brad Bird. 

So what about MI:4 made it so successful in my mind? It was two major firsts for Brad Bird: directing his first live action movie and directing his first film that wasn't a comedy. If you look at Bird's track record before MI:4 you can tell he is a master at animated comedy - with tenure on The Simpsons, and as one of what I call Pixar's 'core directors'. He seems (to me at least) like the least likely pick for a convoluted action thriller, but that's exactly what's brilliant about it. Ghost Protocol shines as a thriller because Bird uses his comedic instincts to inject humor into specific moments, and change the tone to allow the audience to feel great contrast between the emotional highs and lows of each moment. He uses the same tactics to build tension and release it by pumping up the drama, and then allowing the audience to exhale with a comedic payoff.

Take for example the scene where Ethan is climbing the skyscraper. Sure, it's an amazing stunt; sure, we can see that it's actually Tom Cruise doing it; sure the scene builds tension throughout in both comedic and non-comedic payoffs - BUT THEN at the end when Ethan jumps into the open window he misses, and smashes his head on the top. It's pretty hilarious. But more than that - it is an emotional button, a comedic payoff after a dramatic buildup that lets the audience take a moment of rest before we dive back into the tension of the following scene. And it's a self-aware, comedic moment that I believe very few (if any) directors would make in that scenario. 

As a story decision, it's unprecedented in a Mission Impossible film. It was the first that didn't take itself too seriously; it's even the first to recognize how ridiculous it is that the secret organization is called the Impossible Mission Foundation. And it's odd how few directors recognize that adding comedy actually enhances the thrilling and dramatic moments of the film. Brad Bird makes this and other comedic choices (the scene in the hallway with the projector "wall" is one of my favorites of all time) that none of the previous MI directors would have ever had the guts to try. 

On an emotional level, close calls are more relieving when we can crack a joke afterwards; major plot twists are more surprising when we thought we were entering comic relief; and painful realizations are more painful when we all thought we were just having a good time; and the richness of each moment is enhanced by adding a smoothie of multiple emotions and expectations. 

Ghost Protocol takes a narrative and tonal departure from the Mission Impossible norm. One through three are all dark action thrillers, with high-stakes spy vs. spy plot lines that all feature major twists, but only 4 makes comedy, the absurdity of the circumstances, and the personal failings of the main characters central tenets of the story. So why do I put this major change on Bird? Because all of the movies he had done previously featured the same tenets. It is such a welcome breath of fresh air in the Mission Impossible series, and only serves to make the impressive stunts, cinematography, and narrative tension even more interesting to the audience.

In the end, I understand that it takes a lot of people to make a movie - and so does the entire filmmaking community. And I think it's silly to glorify the director's chair as the throne of the industry and the art form. However, I still believe the auteur theory because that is the job and the trust that belong to the director's title. He or she does not need to be the best artist on set, or even have any experience making films before, but instead is in charge of the final product. Kind of like a caretaker for the entire film, a director makes sure that at the end of the day it is the best representation of all the piece could be.

That's why I still believe the auteur theory. 

Superman Returns and The Difference Between Theme and Messages in Subtext

Awhile ago I talked about my love for subtext, and how narratives of all types use it to convey messages about the world outside the limited scope of the immediate story. But, not all films want to say something definite about the larger topics they touch on - in fact that is one of the beauties of narrative as an instructional tool: it need not make a clear statement about something. Filmmakers often talk of their stories as an "Exploration of <insert broad topic here>." By meandering through a topic, and connecting the audience emotionally to the many realities that inspire it - without focusing the entire effort of the film on a single message - many films feel more emotionally rich, and help the audience connect to the story because the story arouses real feelings that we have felt toward the universal theme that is being dealt with.

Yep, I said it, I call these themes. Themes are a type of subtext in a film, but point to something more vague than the underlying messages I've discussed before. Themes are the most common type of subtext, because they evoke an emotional or intellectual response based on the audience's experience with that the realities (outside the film) that theme represents (within the film), rather than using the story to make a clear statement about life. Themes can include things like loss, betrayal, unexpected joy, willpower. They are real life realities briefly represented in film narrative and form.

Let's quickly compare and contrast two children's films exploring the same real world issues to distinguish between themes and messages in subtext.

Message: Fern Gully
Fern Gully wants us as an audience to care about the environment. The villain is made of pollution, the heroes are protecting trees. At the end of the film, during the emotional climax where the tree grows, the narrative uses the emotion we experience because of the drama surrounding the characters to connect us to the message that the earth is the source of good and healing, and humans just destroy. No matter how you feel about the situation of Earth's rainforest, if you care about the story you feel the emotion.

Theme: Wall-E
Contrastingly, Wall-E paints a realistic picture of a world "destroyed" by pollution, and clearly imagines the damaging consequences of humans living a limitlessly hedonistic life on a deluxe cruise ship for generations. These are details that are sometimes necessary and sometimes unnecessary to the main story, but have nothing to do with the main message. Instead, they are a theme that the movie touches on by trying to paint a situation true to reality - and then we fill in the emotional part by our reaction to it. (In fact, so true to reality were these themes that it turns out a lot of people missed the main message altogether.)

The difference is that a theme is only meaningful to us if what we see on screen matches our previous experiences and current perceptions with that theme. Themes present a fictional reality that is true to aspects of reality we experience and we fill in the emotion. Messages use the plot, characters, actions, and consequences make a definite point by directing our attention, thought, and emotion toward a single statement.

Which brings us back (as most things do) to superhero movies, and specifically Superman Returns.

After his very first appearance on screen, Superman saves lives in a way only he could. What other superhero could face this situation without any casualties or additional property damage?

Hero and superhero narratives have always been about themes and subtexts - they are a way for man and woman to marvel at the things that they have, can, and will accomplish. As far as I can tell, central to every superhero story is the idea that men and women somehow have more power within themselves to do good than the world or outside forces have to put them down. These stories are born of real-life heroes that amaze us - single mothers raising 8 kids, men lifting tractors off of trapped loved ones, or teachers shielding children from falling debris with their bodies - and then we take those stories and we stretch them, retell them, and reinvent ways to feel those feelings. But at the core of every superhero film is this theme that they(heroes) somehow find a way, and have within themselves the ability, to do good in this world - even when it feels impossible. That's why I'm fine when superheroes do things their powers say they shouldn't be able to - that's just the story being true to its central theme.

But its the themes outside the central theme that create the great variance in superhero characters. And because we go into a superhero movie having already bought into the central theme, we tend to focus on the secondary themes more - because they provide more of the detail and emotional difference between superhero films.

 I could write a full post about each superhero individually, but for us the big question is, what are the themes behind Superman as a character? What makes him the kind of hero that he is, and a different hero than Batman or the X-Men?

Superman Returns
If you were here, we could discuss what Superman is really all about, and what connects him to reality and makes us interested in him as an audience - but you're not here so I just need to tell you what I think, and hope you agree.

Just sayin' I'm not the only one who noticed.

I think Superman is about perfection. He is the embodiment of all that can be accomplished by a man without mortal weakness. Like Beowulf before him, Superman is an archetype of the perfect man according to the ideals of the age in which he was conceived - able to do anything except lie and unwilling to accept the evils of the world around him. So incorruptible is he that we can't even believe he is human; his story requires he be made of better stuff than we so that we can suspend our disbelief that such a hero could exist. It's also the source of the countless Superman and Christ parallels that have been pointed out before.

These days, it has also resulted in a new theme - alienation and loneliness. It used to not exist in Superman movies and comics, but todays society finds it hard to believe that kind of man can exist among us without sticking out like a Powerpuff girl at a goth convention. So, now we see him as an alien outsider keeping to a moral code we can't access or understand. But he used to be the ideal, the ideal man.

Superman Returns taps back into that original ideal version of Superman, rather than changing his morality or the appropriate theme to match other modern movies. Even the old Superman films sometimes did that. At this point I should probably let you know that Returns is my favorite of all the Superman movies. And, at the end of the day, the thing that I like the most about it is the thematic elements. Sure, it has some major flaws, but its greatest strength is that it recognizes the theme of perfection in Superman stories and makes a strong decision to stick to it. Where other Superman films ignore or intentionally depart from this theme, Returns doubles down on it - making every detail in the story, form, and production conform to that theme. Curious what I mean? Here are some thematic elements that maybe you missed:

• Returns was supposed to be a remake, but Bryan Singer was a huge fan of the original and didn't want to depart from that aesthetic and narrative approach, so he convinced the studio to make a sequel. "Updates" to the character were then removed from the project or minimized.
• Superman's blue is the most pumped up color in every frame and every shot in the movie. The colorist isolated it and made sure it was the purest and brightest color on screen at any given time - bluer than both the sea and the sky. 
• Brandon Routh has blue eyes, but not blue enough. He still had to wear contacts so that Superman would have perfectly clear, brilliantly blue eyes in every shot.
• While he is bested several times because of his goodness and naivety, Superman never makes a real mistake in this film. 
• Superman's character does not change in any way in this film, it is not part of his arch. Instead, the rest of the world needs to change in order to accept him. 
• There are no innocent injuries or casualties in this film. 
• Even though Lois is in love with and engaged to a wonderful man who is helping her raise her child, she never really gets over "you-know-who."
• Superman is repeatedly bested because of his good intentions and need to save/protect people.
• Superman willingly chooses to die rather than let evil continue to be. 

Had enough? If you haven't noticed yet, I have a high tolerance for heavy-handedness, and this movie has it in spades. But that's exactly why I love it - it bets the entire house on a theme that was passe even back when it was released, and it makes for a better superhero movie that way. By embracing the thematic elements that differentiate it as a franchise, rather than trying to turn everything into Batman, it is elevated to a point where Superman is a real character with real meaning.  

I wish more superhero films did this - but instead most of them ignore the thematic elements that made the characters interesting in the first place and chase after popular film trends/tropes of the time. I guess at least that way they can keep rebooting them for the rest of eternity; this way ensures no one will be making any timeless classics any time soon...

Disclaimer: I should also add, before I go too much further that my true favorite Superman movie has not been made - and I haven't been 100% happy with any of them. But Returns is my favorite because it makes some bold and unpopular decisions to forward the character and the story as they were originally conceived and written. Though I'm really not a fan of that little boy...

P.S. Also, don't forget Returns is the only Superman movie to evoke the imagery of Superman with the world on his shoulders. 

Pacific Rim and Learning to Appreciate Movies

I've accepted the fact that I can't convince a lot of people to adore movies the way I do. That's fine, let everyone have their own opinion of things. But I also spend a lot of time trying to convince people to accept movies on their own terms. A LOT. Whether it be trying to get people to watch Asian movies without expecting them to be like American, or just persuading people to give something a chance, I keep trying to get people to look at movies and appreciate them for what they are, what they are trying to do, and what they do well, without imposing a set of rules or expectations on them. And then, right after these conversations, someone will end up drilling me about how I could possibly dislike movies that are so generally popular.

Well, they are both symptoms of the same issue, and that issue is what I'd like to address: How to Appreciate Movies.

The Secret Ingredient
The funny thing is, I don't have a whole lot to say on the topic. There is one simple practice that everyone can do to appreciate film more. All you have to do is always assume that everything a film does is on purpose, and cost a whole lot of time and money to do. If you do that, this always begs the question: "Well, why did they do THAT then?" And that is the exact question you need to be asking yourself. That question will help you appreciate every single film on the planet on it's own terms - because you will be asking it from a place of inherent respect (because you assume it was on purpose), seeking understanding - instead of demanding a movie to justify its shortcomings when you have already decided it is terrible.

Pacific Rim

Let's give an example, just to make sure I'm being clear. A film I often talk with others about and am sad to find they don't appreciate the same way I do is Pacific Rim. So let's go through it real quick.

Why people don't like it:
Invariably, if you find someone who just LOVES Pacific Rim, you will find that they are fans of old Godzilla movies. Seriously. People who like Kaiju films, love Pacific Rim. That tells us something right there. It seems there is a barrier that people aren't getting over because they expect it to match other action or suspense genres, rather than accepting it within the genre it belongs to.

Pacific Rim is a Kaiju film - but people expected it to be a vanilla blockbuster action flick. So how can we appreciate it on it's own terms, within the (admittedly foreign) genre that it exists?

Assume everything was on purpose and ask why.

Pacific Rim is cheesy, and it operates on a scale of craziness and frivolous fun that a lot of people have a difficult time getting into. If we put realism on a scale, Pacific Rim (and Kaiju films in general) would be lounging in the deep end of insanity.

How we can appreciate it:
I love old Japanese Godzilla movies. My favorite featured Godzilla fighting a Monster that towered over the tallest skyscraper, had knives for hands, had a chainsaw apparatus on his belly (he wasn't even a robot, it was just there somehow), and was summoned by people you start the movie believing are aliens, but it turns out at the end they are just giant cockroaches come back from the future.

I promise I did not make any of that up.

Kaiju films promise a good time had by all, but require in return that you as the audience let them do with the story as they will. They openly ask you to actively and willingly suspend your disbelief, rather than seeking to prove themselves to the audience and trick them into believing that this universe actually exists by trying to ground it in something you can accept.

Pacific Rim does this blatantly in the first five minutes. In the opening sequence, Del Toro lays out the premise - giant monsters, giant robots, why they exist and what they do - and if you can just accept that opening sequence and buy into that one premise, the film is phenomenal. The film tells you (the audience) the rules it is going to play by, and then it does. It does not try to answer to the demands or expectations of the audience, nor is it ruled by current trends of story or cinematography. It is a Kaiju movie, and it lays that on the table for you to accept from the very beginning.

That was on purpose, and it cost a lot of time and money. Why would they do that?

Because Del Toro knows he is selling a Japanese genre to an American audience. He lays it out because he knows this is the ticket for admission - accept this premise and you'll love the film. If you went into that movie expecting Transformers, the fact that you hated it is your own fault because the movie told you upfront it was not like Transformers. If you can appreciate the movie on its own terms, you will love it.

Pacific Rim is now reigning king among Kaiju films - a remarkable feat from a Mexican guy who had to learn about and outdo 50 years of Japanese film tradition.

Anyway, this post isn't about Pacific Rim, or even to convince you to love it, I just thought it was a good example on appreciating films on their own terms, and I wanted to share my thoughts on how people can appreciate films more. Assume everything was on purpose, even when you hated something. Heck, especially when you hated something. No filmmaker wants to spend $200 million and 2 years making something you hate. So, take a moment and pretend they did it on purpose, and then ask why.

The Hipster Movie List

What is 'The List?'

Awhile ago I started a list of movies, which I now refer to as the Hipster Movie List. I'm not a hipster, in fact I'm quite the opposite - but when I started to fall in love with film, I became a film hipster.

What in the world do I mean by hipster? Well,  at their core hipsters are anti-culturals. They are people who intentionally reject the norm and go against it - and usually are outspoken enough about it to piss off the people around them.

Example:

Normal person: Have you heard the new Katy Perry Album?

Hipster: I don't listen to mainstream music. It's just a bunch of soul-sucking, dumbed-down, and recycled sex fantasies set to a catchy beat so that they can squeeze a few more dollars out of stupid people without the sense to know better. 

Normal person: I think I'm going to go somewhere less...douchey.

Ironically, if you're looking at this situation with the right lens, you may realize we've all got a little hipster in us.

I became a film hipster when I decided I liked films, and I liked my films intelligent and well-executed. So much so that I began to refuse to watch things that didn't meet that bar. Then, on top of that, when movies were intelligent and well-executed, I would fawn over them and watch them again and again - dissecting every detail.

It made me quite insufferable at parties.

You see, the problem with being a film hipster is that EVERYONE likes movies. I learned early that if I was going to turn preachy every time the topic of movies came up, I would lose a lot of friends (I mean... more than I already had). So, I created the Hipster Movie List as an outlet for how I felt, and started shutting my mouth when people raved about how "The latest Transformers is actually really good!"

Okay, So What is The List?

The Hipster Movie List is a list of movies that are brilliantly executed - enough to make them a cut above other movies. Some of them were successful in the box office, and some weren't - but all of them are amazing. And that's not all. They have to be both amazing and underrated. This is where the hipster part comes in. Hipster movies are movies that had major portions of their executions go unnoticed or unrecognized by mainstream audiences. These are movies that I wish I could shake the modern everyday viewer until they realized they are gems, and that  this kind of film is neither common, nor easy. 

However, that's not to say that all of these movies aren't popular. The Dark Knight is on the list, and that film made over a billion dollars. But of all the people that loved it, they didn't recognize the flawless use of metaphor and the first perfect realization and writing of the Joker character in any film or television adaptation I've ever seen (and I've seen a lot). The Avengers, which also brought in over a billion dollars, however is not on the list because as amazing as the film was, I didn't think there was some part of it that was not being openly appreciated by the public. Everyone got how great it was, so there was no need for me to record it as an underappreciated film.

In a nutshell, it's a list of movies that everyone knows are good (or they should), but people don't seem to know just how good they are - and how rare a quality that is in cinema. 

So, having said all that (much more than I originally intended), I now give you The Hipster Movie List - a list of movies since the dawn of film history, that are both amazing and underappreciated in modern discussion:

See the Hipster Movie List